Page 102 of Until Joy

“He was so close, Graham. He could have…”

“But he didn't. And he won't.” I tightened my arms around her, feeling the weight of the gun on the dashboard like a promise. “Whatever this bastard is planning, he's going to have to go through me first.”

I looked up and saw Wes’s dark blue SUV pull up beside my vandalized truck. I watched his face darken as he took in the spray paint and slashed tires through his windshield.

But I didn't move. Joy needed this moment, needed to feel safe before we faced whatever came next.

And sitting there in my destroyed truck with the woman I loved in my arms and a loaded weapon within reach, I made a silent promise to whatever sick fuck was playing games with our lives.

I'd killed enemy combatants with my bare hands in three different countries.

This asshole was about to become a statistic.

Chapter 26

The low rumble of voices pulled me from sleep, my brain struggling to surface from the depths of exhaustion. I blinked at the digital clock on Graham's nightstand. Nine-seventeen. I'd only been asleep for an hour, but my body felt like I'd been unconscious for days.

The voices grew louder, filtering through the closed bedroom door. I recognized Graham's deep baritone, but there were others. Multiple others.

I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. The oversized t-shirt I'd stolen from Graham's dresser hung to my mid-thighs as I crept to the door and pressed my ear against the cool wood.

“We're done playing defense.” That was Wes, his voice tight with controlled anger. “This bastard escalated today. Time we escalated back.”

“Wes is right.” Z's voice carried the same barely leashed fury. “Sitting around waiting for this psycho to make his next move isn't working.”

My stomach clenched. They sounded like they were planning something dangerous.

“What are you suggesting?” Graham's tone was carefully neutral, but I could hear the underlying tension.

“We draw him out.” That was Jax, his voice cold and professional. “Force his hand instead of reacting to his moves.”

“How?” Wes asked.

“We use Joy as bait.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep from gasping out loud.

“Absolutely not.” Graham's voice turned deadly quiet. “That's off the table.”

“Graham, listen,” Evan's calm voice cut through the tension. “We set up a controlled situation. Somewhere we can monitor every angle, every approach. Joy appears vulnerable, but she's actually surrounded by protection.”

“No.” Graham’s voice came out like a gunshot. “I won't put her at risk.”

“She's already at risk,” Wes shot back. “This maniac knows where she works, where she lives, where she goes. He's been taking pictures of her for weeks. How is that safer than a controlled operation?”

My legs felt weak. I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, still listening through the door.

“Because in a controlled operation, there are variables we can't account for,” Graham said. “This guy's proven he's willing to escalate to violence. What happens if something goes wrong?”

“There’s no way I’m letting you stake my sister out like some goddamn goat,” Randy roared.

“What happens if we don't act?” Seth's voice cracked with emotion. “What happens when he decides to grab her like he did that woman in Dublin?”

The silence stretched so long I wondered if they'd left. Then Cobi's voice, steady and authoritative, filled the void.

“Evan and I are going through all the video from the vaccination day. We’re cross-referencing it with the sketch we got from the sketch artist in Dublin that the victim helped with.”

“He could have paid someone to put the flyer on Kayan’s car, and there’s no video where I parked,” Graham said.